


The Adventures of Moggy and Scales

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anthology, Bottom Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet, Canon-typical bathing, Cutagens | Cute Effects of Mutagens (The Witcher), Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: Gaetan (School of the Cat) and Letho (School of the Viper) are an unlikely duo. Their partnership is chaotic, violent (towards others) and inexplicable (to their respective schools), and they are completely inseparable. These are their stories.An anthology of all my Vipurr shorts from Tumblr, prompts and short stories.
Relationships: Gaetan/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet
Comments: 101
Kudos: 152
Collections: Vipurr: A Collection of Cat and Snake in Love (or just Murder Husbands)





	1. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Letho hides while the war he started rages through the Northern Kingdoms. A young Cat witcher in need of help gives him an opportunity to start making amends._

War destroyed everything in its path. Monster, human, Witcher. It wasn’t racist, or anti-human, sexist or ageist. It consumed everything with the same cold efficiency. Letho watched it all from a distance. He knew he’d started it. Knew it was his fault. This wasn’t some kind of self-flagellation over events he really couldn’t control—the kind of thing some humans did as a way to process more complex emotions—but genuine guilt. Three heads. Three kings. A Nilfgaardian surge for power.

The fighting petered out a little during the winter. Even Emhyr wasn’t cold enough to send his armies out in blizzards to freeze solid. But for those left behind, in the towns, villages, cities ravaged by the fighting, there was no escape from the peril. It just wore a different mask. Nature. Refugees perished in their droves; forced from their homes by soldiers, both friend and enemy, they fled to the countryside only to have the cruel talons of winter sink into their already frail bodies.

Letho had buried twenty-five children.

He was counting.

Adults. Whatever. He’d murder as many as you wanted. But children? Letho just… he couldn’t bear it. Anyone who harmed a child was truly evil incarnate. That’s why he’d refused to kill Foltest’s heirs. _Children._

If he’d been given what had been promised—his school restored, his brothers safe, a second chance—then the guilt wouldn’t be eating him. It wouldn’t be wrapping around his heart like a python, squeezing mercilessly every time he picked up another tiny body in his huge hands and lowered it gently into a deep grave. Deep, so the necrophages wouldn’t bother with it. But Emhyr had taken that and sent bounty hunters after him. All he had to show for his sacrifices were a few dead children, dead brothers, loneliness and crushing remorse. 

Perhaps that’s why Letho let him in.

Three days after he’d found a dilapidated house, ransacked and abandoned, to weather a particularly bad blizzard in, another Witcher stumbled through the door. Attracted by the curling smoke, he practically fell across the threshold onto his hands and knees, blood dripping from a wound in his shoulder, and another in his side.

Letho reached for his sword instinctively, but there was little need. The Witcher—his scent and the yellows eyes that lifted to peer up at Letho were unmistakeable—raised a hand in a silent plea for clemency. There was a glimmer relief on his young face; his head was shaven, and a single scar ran down from his left eye. “Please, I just need a place to stay.”

Against his better judgement and every well-tuned instinct, Letho nodded silently. It was the guilt, wasn’t it? Somewhere in his rotten soul he believed that helping someone—anyone—went some way into making amends for the war he’d set in motion. Not even the medallion that swung down from the Witcher’s sword strap as he crawled towards the fire gave Letho pause; not everyone was as precious about clan loyalty as the wolves of Kaer Morhen.

The Witcher passed out. Completely unconscious. Had to be desperate. No Witcher threw themselves at the mercy of another unless they were truly in need, or simply didn’t care anymore.

At first, Letho wasn’t sure what to do. He looked down at the prone form with a creased brow and then reached for him. His hands hovered over the man’s back, fingers twitching in the air, hesitant, but eventually his resolve hardened. Without medical care and dose of Swallow, even a Witcher could bleed out. Letho took his weapons and armour off him, and then, while they were still warmed by the fire, removed his shirt to tend to his injuries. There was a deep gash in his side—must be a sword, or maybe a machete—and then what looked like pitchfork prongs in his shoulder. One must have slipped higher and cut across his neck. 

As carefully as he could, Letho cleaned the wounds with dwarven spirit and prepared a needle and thread. His hands were big but, like any viper, he was dexterous. There was soon a collection of neat, red lines on his companion’s torso; they’d heal and join the rest of the faint scars criss-crossing tanned skin. Surprisingly, the Witcher didn’t stir, and Letho used some water to wipe away the rest of the blood and the grime before wrapping him in a fur by the fire.

The viper watched him for a little while. Admired the strong, corded muscle across his shoulders and the jutting bones of his neck. This one really was young. Must’ve been trained just before everything went to shit. He looked peaceful in slumber; vulnerable in a way that reminded Letho of all the young ones he’d buried since—

He sighed heavily through his nose and tugged his shirt off before crawling between the furs. There was no risk in sleeping with the other near; Letho would stir at the slightest movement. Survival instinct. They both slept through the majority of the night, silent snow falling in a heavy blanket onto the frozen ground. The world was muted when Letho’s eyes flickered open and locked with the two gazing at him from the furs.

“Gaetan,” the Witcher said.

“What?” Letho murmured, throat still dry from sleep.

“S’my name,” Gaetan shifted pulling the furs tighter. “Gaetan.”

“Huh, ‘m Letho,” he replied. “You’re lucky. If you got caught out in that, you’d be dead.”

“Hmm.” Gaetan glanced at the window, but said nothing more unprompted, chin tucking close to his chest. He was shivering, despite the healthy crackle of the fire and the thick furs over his body.

“How’d it happen? The injuries?”

“Villagers. I demanded payment. They were making excuses about the war, ‘bout how they didn’t have anythin’ because of it,”—Letho’s heart constricted, but he didn’t interrupt—“so they lured me into a barn and stabbed me.”

“Fuckers.”

“Yeah. Got my revenge, and then who should show up but Geralt of-fucking-Rivia. Thought I was a goner. He gave me a bit of a talk, then muttered something about being the Butcher of Blaviken. I gave him everything I had left to repay him… just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind and come back to finish what the villagers started.” 

Letho raised an eyebrow. Geralt of Rivia playing the town sheriff wasn’t anything new, but showing mercy on someone who’d—presumably—committed murder? Well, he assumed. Cats were notorious for it. But if they’d attacked first? Letho couldn’t blame him. “Hmm. You gave him everything?”

“Yeah, stupid. Nothing left. No medical supplies, and nothing to buy them,” Gaetan shifted; his tongue darted out across his lips and he was still shivering. “Look, I’ve got nothing to repay you with, but—uh.”

Letho knew that look. Knew the uncomfortable squirm of someone about to offer the only thing they had left; themselves. He sighed heavily through his nose. “Don’t start with that shit. Just… if you find me with a knife in my back at some point, return the favour.”

“Right, uh—okay,” the young Witcher nodded, but he continued to stare at Letho with big eyes. “Look, can I—can I ask one more thing? And don’t freak out.” 

“What?” 

“I’m fucking freezing, must be the injuries, or—I don’t know, can I—uh, can I share your blanket?”

Letho stared right back, silently. Share his blanket. Use the blanket with him in it. Two Witchers, one blanket. “Is—are you—?”

“I won’t do anything. You’d snap my neck before I could move anyway.”

He was going soft in his old age, or the guilt was dulling his senses—that young face—either way, Letho lifted the blanket aside long enough for Gaetan to crawl around his side of the fire and settle down beneath it. So that the cold could be closed out, Gaetan had to shimmy all the way back until Letho was spooned around him, one big arm falling over his chest and enveloping him in glorious warmth. The Cat relaxed instantly, his much smaller body melting, eyes closing in bliss. The fire crackled, the wind moaned, and Gaetan… purred. 

It was the loveliest sound Letho’d ever heard from another human being. A deep, gentle rumble that appeared to exude from every part of Gaetan at once. As if he noticed Letho take pause, Gaetan cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, sorry… it’s… I can’t help—I’ll stop doing it.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Letho smirked. “Go ahead.”

So what if Gaetan purred? It was nice. And so what if, as the morning crept closer and they both grew comfortable with each other’s presence, that the first stirrings of interest moved within them? 

Letho’s big, warm hands sweeping over Gaetan’s bruised form with aching tenderness in an offer of affection that was readily accepted. There was a bond between all Witchers. It wasn’t in their blood, but in their shared experience; their understanding that the Path was hard and people were cruel. If you found another of your kind, you did all you could to assist, and if there was comfort to be had or given, then it should be readily accepted.

Gaetan remained on his side, his back pressed to Letho’s chest, and nuzzled beneath Letho’s jaw, his purr intensifying. Broad palms continued to stroke his torso, until they eventually pushed his trousers and boots from him, leaving him naked in Letho’s arms. The Viper touched him all over, cupping his balls, stroking his prick, groping his thighs; he was delighted by the small, but powerful body beneath his hands and the way it writhed with pleasure. His pert little ass pushed back against Letho’s groin, rubbing against the huge cock straining against the ties of his trousers. “Look, I know you turned me down, but, uh—could you--? Is there any chance I could have that in me?”

“Forward little thing, aren’t you?”

“Says the one currently bringing me dangerously close to coming,” Gaetan half whined, hips shimmying again pointedly. “Want me to beg? I can beg for a good fuck. And I know you’re a good fuck. With a weapon like that, it’d be hard not to be.” 

“Like this, under the blankets, don’t want to rip your gut open again.”

“Fair. Entrails can be a bit of a mood killer.”

“Can be?” Letho smirked. “No. Don’t say anythin’. Hold still.” He shifted and reached across to his pack. There was a tin of salve in there he used on wounds; it was slick enough for this and easy on the body. He scooped out a huge dollop on two fingers and then tucked himself back beneath the blanket. Gaetan was more than accommodating, shifting his thighs apart so that Letho could slip a hand between them. It was so warm; an intimate heat that made Letho’s cock twitch in anticipation. Although Gaetan was clearly experienced—relaxing with a pleased sigh when Letho stroked around his hole rather than tensing up—he was still pleasingly tight. His body clenched around Letho’s first finger, and the viper bit his lip to stem the quiet moan of pleasure. Just the thought of sinking into him. 

“Oh, gods,” Gaetan purred, knees bending up now that Letho had his angle; he encouraged the slow thrust of fingers with an arched spine, moaning and kneading at the blankets wrapped around him. A second finger slid and Letho couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of Gaetan’s head—he was an affectionate lover—and it was received with a delighted little rumble. Good. His body was beautiful. Hot, and needy, and so, so strong. Letho could feel the sinewy muscle flexing, hear the little squeaks of awed pleasure now that a third finger eased inside to stretch him open. Nothing was ever really enough; he just needed to be as relaxed as possible. But was apparently impatient. “Right, that’s enough… want.” 

“Forward and demanding?”

“I love cock, alright? I don’t get to have it often. Humans are narrow-minded.” 

“That they are,” Letho withdrew his finger and smeared what remained of the salve across his cock. With his knees tucked high and his ass so beautifully toned, the angle was good for Letho to lift his head to tuck against his loose rim. “Breathe out as I push in. It helps.”

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bi—,” Gaetan cut off as the air wheezed out of him. Tucked under the covers, he’d only really felt Letho’s cock rubbing against him. Hadn’t really got the full scale of the issue. Now he did though. “Oh—ahh—oh—ff—ahh.” It felt like Letho was splitting him in half. He kept pausing, giving Gaetan time to adjust, and then he’d give a few more delicious, fat inches.

“Halfway. Is this enough?”

“Halfway?!” Gaetan squeaked, his eyes watering. “N—no, I want it all, Viper. Give.” Although, he was certain he’d regret it.

Letho grunted as Gaetan’s body trembled, gripping him ever so tightly, and pushed forward until his hips brushed against the lovely curves of his ass. By that point, Gaetan could barely breathe without feeling Letho’s cock jostle something in his stomach. He was completely impaled. Letho slid a hand down the front of Gaetan’s chest to his abdomen, affectionately rubbing the little bulge caused by his cockhead. “Mmm. Long time since I’ve had someone like this.”

“Nnfgh,” Gaetan managed, and then a cry when Letho began to move. It would be a gentle fuck, but it was still going to obliterate every sense Gaetan had. Letho moaned loudly every time Gaetan squeezed him reflexively; the oily salve allowed for a smooth glide that caressed all the right spots. Soon Gaetan was gasping and moaning with each thrust, held securely in Letho’s arms, spooned together, safe, wracked with pleasure. Sweat soon clung to their skin, the warmth provided by the blankets amplified by the intensity of their desire. Slow didn’t mean passionless; every roll of Letho’s hips was deep and sensual. He whispered praise in Gaetan’s ear effortlessly, marvelling at how good he felt, how complete.

It wouldn’t be the last time they fucked that night. After their first round, Letho rolled Gaetan onto his front and blanketed him with his huge body; pinned him down, dragged his cock in and out until Gaetan came with a cry and then fucked him to another one.

It wouldn’t be the last time they fucked that year. Gaetan found Letho at least one every couple of weeks and they spent a night of passion together; Gaetan spreading himself out for his Viper to use at will. And it was always everything he wanted.

It wasn’t the last time for a lot of things, but it was the first time for one thing.

After months of meeting, hunting, fucking and laughing with Gaetan, they met one evening for a drink and ended up in bed. As Gaetan dozed, Letho gazed down at him and realised it was the first time he’d loved someone, and that, as those yellows eyes opened sleepily and a slenderer hand brushed over his face, it was the first time that someone had loved him too.

The python constricting his heart unravelled and slithered away to punish him no more.


	2. Danger Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Letho can’t keep his hands off his Cat, not even when they’re working an assassination together. But it doesn’t matter, because together they’re unstoppable._

The contract was a second tier nobleman who’d pissed off the wrong crime lord in Novigrad. The fee reflected the wealth and prestige of the target and it was the perfect excuse for Letho to invite his favourite Cat along for the ride (in more ways than one as long all went to plan). The nobleman was due to meet with a creditor in a large, abandoned warehouse on the dock, but he’d arrive to find two Witchers in wait instead. 

Letho scaled the gutter silently behind Gaetan. The problem with this arrangement was that Gaetan’s toned little ass writhed and wriggled right in front of him; that lithe body could flex and twist in ways that Letho could only ever dream of. When they fucked, it clamped down and gyrated more elegantly than any lap dancer on the Continent. A fucking gift. They’d burnt off some excess ‘energy’ in a tavern back room before heading out, but the fire in Letho’s belly clearly hadn’t been doused enough. The knowledge that Gaetan would still be wet and loose just made it even harder to keep his mind on the job.

They crested the roof and broke in through a skylight window. The Viper watched his feline accomplice crawl across the broad rafter and felt his mouth salivate. Why the fuck did Cats not have sleeves on their armour? Why couldn’t Letho tear his eyes away from every little flex of muscle? Gaetan crouched, his ass stretching the material of his trousers, and Letho’s prick thickened down the leg of his own.

There was something to be said about making decisions with the _right_ head and its corresponding brain, but suddenly Letho just _needed._ He needed his moggy split open on his cock and purring in his arms. He’d tell himself later that it was a small slip up in a long history of professionalism, and he deserved at least _one_ moment of weakness, but in reality, he was always weak when it came to Gaetan.

Letho moved forward silently. Gaetan’s head tilted up, the soft sound of scenting sniffs followed, and he looked over his shoulder with a wry smirk. The warehouse was still empty below them, but he whispered anyway. “Feeling frisky, scales?” 

There was no verbal answer. Letho slipped up behind him, one hand sliding between Gaetan’s thighs as a thick cock pressed into the clothed cleft of his ass. Gaetan might’ve been able to resist someone else, but not Letho. Never Letho. The heat of his body, the musk of his need, the way his huge palm pulsated across Gaetan’s cock and demanded its attention; it was too much. Too overwhelming. Gaetan let out the softest moan as he melted back, surrendering. 

Sharp teeth grazed down the side of his neck to his shoulder and Letho continued to grind slowly. “More.” Gaetan growled, the demand rumbling through the palm wrapped around his throat. “Fuck me. Right here.” _Right here._ With the target’s arrival imminent. Nothing like a good danger fuck to make the blood run hot. He latched onto Letho’s thighs as thick fingers plucked open the buckle of his belt and the buttons of his trousers with practiced ease. “Yeah, yeah…” A slow stroke of his prick, from root to tip; he was already leaking, precome easing the glide of Letho’s palm. That same hand yanked his trousers down further, two thick fingers slid straight down to his hole and pushed in. “Nnngh. Still ready for you, big boy. C’mon.”

Letho sat down on the rafter with a quiet growl, his rear secure, his legs dangling over the edge, and pulled his cock free from the confines of his trousers. He pulled Gaetan’s trousers and boots from him completely, and then dragged him onto his lap, back to his chest; it was more precarious, but the reward of watching his prick sink into that tight ass was worth it. Progress was slow. Even with a session an hour or so earlier, Gaetan’s body still resisted; muscles fluttering, thighs taut. 

Gaetan moaned, the burning stretch searing all thoughts of the contract from his mind; the only things that existed in this world were the two hands—one braced on his shoulder, the other on his hip—and the monstrously huge cock bulging out the front of his stomach by the time it was fully seated. In this position, he had no agency; his body no more than a sleeve for Letho’s cock and the thought melted his brain to syrup. And Letho was in no rush. He moved Gaetan forward and then pulled him back at the same achingly slow pace. Gaetan arched back so that he could curl a hand around Letho’s neck, head tilting to his shoulder. The Viper whispered in his ear. “You feel so perfect, kitty. So soft, so warm.”

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” Gaetan murmured back, and then fell silent when human voices travelled up from the warehouse doors. His heart sped up and his body clenched, but his lover didn’t seem bothered; he continued moving Gaetan with unaffected languor, making sure every inch of his glorious cock dragged over Gaetan’s prostate. 

_The target was right there._

Gaetan’s insides turned to liquid as the excitement made his head light. He must’ve been making noise because Letho’s fingers slipped into his mouth and pinned his head back properly; his stomach clenched and he moved his body in a slow, graceful ripple to assist Letho’s gloriously slow fuck. Gaetan’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, fingers biting into Letho’s neck as the other hand began to strip his cock in urgent tugs.

The arousal was peaking. The fire under their skin now a roaring inferno. They were untouchable, unbeatable. The humans below meant so little that Letho was going to take him apart right here, speared on his cock, with Gaetan half naked and vulnerable. But he didn’t feel vulnerable. He felt like the most powerful man on the Continent with his Viper inside him, around him, his hands anchoring his body and soul, his scent burrowing into the very core of his being. Gaetan suckled on the fingers in his mouth and allowed the inferno to coalesce, building higher, roaring louder, until his orgasm ripped through him. It was the slowest, most sensual fuck of Gaetan’s life, but his cock erupted like he’d been savagely railed to within an inch of his life.

His come spurted over the grip of his fingers and dripped onto the humans below. With a feral snarl, Letho filled his ass. The heat spread through him, dripping out his hole as Letho continued to fuck him until his cock quivered with sensitivity.

“What the fuck is that…?” The nobleman lifted his hand and wiped Gaetan’s spend from his auburn hair. Wide eyes turned towards the roof. The last thing they saw was a semi-naked Witcher descend, amber eyes afire with the illicit thrill of his climax. Letho followed and dispatched the nobleman’s two companions with brutal efficiency. 

As the blood pooled on the cold stone floor, lifeless eyes staring up at the wooden beams, Letho snatched his Cat up and pinned him against the wall; their mouths smashed together in a brutal, biting kiss filled with the taste of their kill on the air and the heat of the arousal crackling between them. 

Gaetan’s thighs draped across Letho’s massive forearms, his mouth hanging open, tongue sweeping across his lips as his lover finally pulled back. “You’re a sick, filthy bastard, and I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Gaetan growled, and then arched as Letho’s newly hard cock pushed back in for another round; he half sobbed as his puffy, sensitive hole prickled with pained pleasure, but he wanted. 

The pace was harder this time, demanding. Because this time, Letho wanted his kitty to yowl for him. With the adrenaline coursing through their veins, the intoxicating scent of blood and the lusty smell of Gaetan’s body, Letho lost himself completely.


	3. Wounded Moggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Letho finds Gaetan in the streets of Ellander and makes sure he gets the care he needs._

Letho never expected it to affect him so much. Injuries—grievous and scarring—were part of a Witcher’s lot. He’d never forget the fiend that clawed open his head and left the permanent v-shape in his scalp, or the plethora of other beasts that had taken their pound of flesh, but it was to be expected. And yet, finding Gaetan wounded and bleeding in some backwater town full of scum-of-the-earth types that were happy to let him suffer in the gutter felt like a step too far.

The contract that had lured Letho this far north was relatively straight forward. A den of endrega in the way of a mining operation; Letho cleared it for the company that hired him and was now on his way out. He caught Gaetan’s familiar scent hanging faintly beneath the overbearing odour of the sewage in the street. It pulled him into the narrow alleyway barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders and he squinted into the darkness.

A smaller shape moved behind a crate. “Gaetan?”

“Mmrph,” came the grunted reply, and Letho closed the distance. He found Gaetan on his side wrapped tightly in his travelling cloak. The visible parts of his face were a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“What happened?” Letho crouched down, one broad palm resting on a shoulder that flinched briefly under his touch.

“Pissed off an enchanter,” he growled, his throat hoarse. “Stabbed me with something and…” a pause, his slender frame shaking, “I feel like my insides are having a riot.”

“C’mon, need to get you out of the street.”

“S’fine, it’ll wear off in a coupl’a days she said,” Gaetan murmured, but didn’t struggle as Letho’s thick arms scooped him from the cold floor. He must have lost consciousness walking through the street, finally surrendering to the creeping darkness now that he was clutched safely to Letho’s broad chest. When he woke, he felt warm and clean. The mattress was soft. Far too soft for a simple tavern mattress. As his senses came back, he heard the distant chatter of female voices, a bell ringing… his eyes opened slowly, blinking closed again to clear the haze, and then something moved in his peripheral. 

“Easy,” Letho soothed, one of those large palms stroking back over his shaven head. “It’s alright, kitty. You’re safe.”

“Where—?” His mouth was dry, and his throat crackled. Letho moved from his seat, the book in his hand placed carefully on the bedside cabinet, to pick up the jug of water. 

“Temple of Melitele,” Letho replied, the tin of the jug made a dull thud as he set it against the lip of a tankard. “They said you wouldn’t have got better. Whatever they stabbed you with was attacking your mutagens.” The mattress dipped as Letho sat on the edge, his forearm sliding gently beneath Gaetan’s back to lift him up. “It’s lucky I found you when I did.”

“Nine lives,” Gaetan smirked, and then struggled through a few sips of water. It was so good. Fresh and cold against his lips, he tried to gulp more only to choke and splutter.

“Take it slower,” Letho growled and pulled the tankard away. He held Gaetan until the coughing abated and then rested his forehead gently against his; reptilian eyes gazed into the depths of their feline counterparts in search of Gaetan’s trademark mischief. To find it muted beneath a haze of pain tightened a knot of… something in Letho’s chest.

“’m surprised the priestesses let someone like me in,” Gaetan sighed, one palm lifting to press against his upper abdomen only to have probing fingers stopped short by soft, firmly wound bandages.

“Nenneke never turns a Witcher away.”

“Not even a Cat?” 

“Not even a Cat,” Letho finally gave in to the desire niggling at the back of his mind and placed a soft kiss to Gaetan’s damp lips, thick fingers tucked beneath his narrow chin to keep his head tilted up just long enough for Letho to taste him. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m never going to be able to pay them for this,” Gaetan grumbled as he settled back against the pillows—soft pillows, with feathers in them rather than straw—and pulled the blankets up to his waist. 

“S’the great thing about organised religion,” Letho reached for his book. “They’re all about savin’ the soul, both their own and that of whatever misguided, lost creature that falls over their threshold.”

“Am I a lost, misguided soul, Letho?” Gaetan blew his eyes wide in what was, quite frankly, a perfect imitation of a begging cat, but his viper appeared unmoved.

“Not so much misguided as wilfully belligerent,” Letho schooled his smirk. “I had to spin one hell of a yarn to get you in here. Just make sure you’re all sweet, needy and grateful for salvation when the priestesses swing by.”

“Sweet and needy,” Gaetan flashed Letho a roguish little grin before closing his eyes. “That for you, or the priestesses?”

“Hm,” Letho hummed, but didn’t look over until Gaetan’s breathing slowed as his body relaxed into sleep. Sweet and needy. His kitty didn’t need to put on a show for him; Letho thought he was the sweetest darned creature this side of the Great Sea, with his youthful features, cheeky smile and bright eyes.

And someone had nearly stolen him from Letho.

Once Gaetan was better, they would hunt down that enchanter and make her regret her very existence. Well, after Letho made full use of his fully healed, sweet and needy little Cat, of course.


	4. Sex Pollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gaetan double crosses a sorcerer who takes a very peculiar type of revenge._

“Letho!” The door slammed against the inside wall of their tiny, dingy room and the resulting vibrations rattled Letho’s carefully arranged alchemy flasks. He reached out to steady them as Gaetan hurtled into the room and began manically stripping off his clothes. “Get your dick in me now, or I’m going to die.” 

“What?” Letho laughed, incredulous, head tilted to the side as Gaetan bounced around the room on one foot, trying to pull his boots off.

“It’s sex pollen. I’ve read about it in… stories, if you don’t fuck me, I’m gonna’ die. Like, my balls’ll _explode_ or something— _oh my fucking gods it hurts!_ ” Gaetan buckled over, hands pushing down on his crotch, face screwing up in pain. The distress was real. Letho could scent it on the air; thick and sickly.

“I’ve been doin’ this job for over a hundred years,” Letho grumbled. “If there was such thing as… uh, what did you call it?” 

“Sex pollen,” Gaetan wheezed.

“ _Sex pollen_ , I woulda’ fuckin’ heard of it,” Letho stoppered his flasks, and swaggered over just as Gaetan managed to whip off his trousers. His erection was monumental, and even Letho raised an impressed eyebrow. “What’s your medallion doin’?” His own had been handed to Geralt of Rivia many years ago to misdirect bounty hunters. Without a school to return to, there was no hope of another. It made getting work difficult sometimes.

“Vibrating. I thought about shoving it up my ass to alleviate the pres— _sur—ah!_ ” Gaetan pressed his hands between his thighs. “Come on, this isn’t a hundred-thousand-word slow burn romance novel, it’s fuck or die, scales. I am fuckin’ _dying!_ Please, _please._ ” 

If Gaetan was, in fact, dying, Letho needed to know. He grabbed that narrow chin and tilted the Cat’s face into the light. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, but his pupils were still lively, and other than the smell of distress and discomfort, there was nothing else… _off_. “You pissed off a sorcerer, didn’t you?”

“Letho,” Gaetan whined, pressing on his balls in hopes of—something, he had no fucking idea. “Yes, yes. He asked me to go spike a duchess’ drink… something about enchantments around her bed chamber, and I told him he needed to find another sap to help him get his dick wet. I’m not some perv, and— _holy fucking Kreve almighty_ —can you fuck me already?”

Now that he was certain his unfortunate moggy wasn’t about to spontaneously combust in a cloud of pollen, Letho nodded with a quiet grunt and began to strip off his clothes.

“Are you—are you folding your underwear right now? My cock is about to rupture, Letho. _My ass feels—I’m not even sure but it feels bad, fuuu—ck_ ,” Gaetan yowled, his eyes watering, and then finally—fucking finally—his beast of a lover was naked, with that huge monster of a dick already semi-hard. “Yes, yes, come here. I’m ready. Take me, big boy.” The Cat flung himself dramatically on the bed, knees spread wide, ass presented. Then Letho paused. Gaetan could feel him close. The heat of it, the throb of the pulse thickening the big, swollen head with blood. And it wasn’t getting in him. He dropped his face, eyes wide and desperate. “What’s the fuckin’ hold up?”

“Are you sure?” 

Gaetan’s mouth dropped open. “I swear on my mother’s life, if you try and have the consent talk right now, I will cut your dick off with that knife.” 

“Don’t disrespect the dead,” Letho rumbled, eyes narrowed. His gaze dropped to the beautifully sculpted backside perked towards him, and raised an eyebrow. “Huh, don’t think we’re going to need any oil…” He ran a finger down Gaetan’s cleft and it came away glistening with slick. “What did the sorcerer say, exactly?”

“Oh my—,” Gaetan seethed into the rough linen below with a suffering groan. “I told him to quit being such a horny old bastard, stop thinking with his dick, and he said I sounded like a woman, and— _nnngh.”_

“Alright, alright,” Letho ran a soothing palm over Gaetan’s lower back. “Gimme a sec’. Flagged a bit.” It was difficult to maintain ‘interest’ when your lover was writhing in pain before you. Letho lined his prick up in that slick cleft and rocked his hips slowly, pushing his shaft across soft, pink skin. Gaetan groaned in a mixture of relief and desperate need. Letho was a goliath among men in every single way, and usually he took a bit of working up to. But Gaetan didn’t have time for that, he needed now; the gentle slide across his hole not quite enough. “Easy, moggy. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

“Ahh, ahh,” Gaetan keened as his body stretched open around Letho’s cock. It pushed into him with slow, shallow thrusts that soothed the pain of whatever horrific curse had been placed upon him. “Oh, fuck, so good. Letho, fuck, yeah, yeah.” 

When he was full, with the heavy heat of Letho’s balls pressed to the back of his, everything settled. The agony subsided into penetrating throbs of arousal. The familiar weight of his lover blanketed him; Gaetan arched into the barrelled chest pressed to his back, and tilted his head to accept the passionate kisses anointing his neck. The sorcerer had believed Gaetan would find a corner to curl up in, or humiliate himself by begging on the street; he’d miscalculated. This was one tomcat who didn’t travel alone. 

Letho moaned into Gaetan’s skin, thick body deceptively agile, its raw strength demanding and dominant as he fucked Gaetan into the straw-stuffed mattress. As the pace quickened, Gaetan panted and yowled a little louder, but what fell out of his mouth next surprised them both. “Oh fuck, I want your kittens,” his eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut. _But it was too late._ Letho had heard and was now chuckling breathlessly, nipping at Gaetan’s shoulder.

“Breeding kink?”

“Fuck you,” Gaetan scowled, but his embarrassment was short lived. It dissolved in the heat of his orgasm as it coiled tightly in his belly and then spilled through the rest of him in a warm tide. His body clamped eagerly around Letho, desperate to keep him buried deep, and Gaetan was overcome with the desire for his womb to quicken. _He didn’t have a fucking womb._ “Please, _please._ ” He clamped his mouth shut, but a soft moan still broke free when the thick cock in his ass pulsed through its climax. 

Letho’s deep, satisfied pants puffed across the back of his neck, punctuated by the odd kiss and sweet nothings. Then he went to withdraw, and a sudden panic gripped Gaetan’s chest. “No! No, you have to stay.” He tightened every muscle he still had control of, and Letho grunted in surprise.

“Gaetan, I need to—mmph,” Letho grimaced. “Alright, just… loosen up a bit, will ya’?”

“I… it’s… I can’t explain it,” Gaetan whimpered. “I’m worried someone else will, uh, try to give me their kittens instead.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“None of this makes any fucking sense, Letho,” Gaetan snapped, and then flopped dejectedly. “Just stay for a little bit.” 

“Gonna’ readjust, alright? Don’t panic,” Letho scooped an arm beneath Gaetan’s chest and held him close as he rested down on his side. At this angle, he could hold Gaetan close and slowly ease out as he was permitted. “What else did he say?”

“He said if I was so worried about what women thought and felt, then I should be bred like one,” Gaetan grumbled, head cushioned on Letho’s huge bicep. “Well, jokes on him, I want your dick all the time anyway.”

“Hm,” Letho nuzzled his nose across the stubble on Gaetan’s jawline, and slowly drew his hips away. His softening cock flopped against his own thigh, and Gaetan whined at the loss. “Figure this ain’t gonna’ be a one and done.”

“Worried about your stamina, old man?”

“Worried about your ass,” Letho shot back, and left the bed briefly to get Gaetan some water and a towel. “So, this mage. Know where to find him again?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’d like to thank him for the good night we’re about to have,” Letho stretched his arms above his head, and then cracked his neck. “And then we’re gonna’ cut his head off.” 

Gaetan smirked over his shoulder and then grimaced as the cycle of pain started again. Thank every fucking holy pantheon for a Witcher’s short refractory period. A little bit of kissing, a touch of grinding, and Letho was all ready to dance again. Gaetan clambered onto his hips and sank down onto him with a delighted groan.

Tomorrow, they’d rid the world of yet another unpleasant individual—they seemed to be doing that almost as much as normal contracts these days—but first they were going to keep the whole village awake for an entire night while they fucked this curse out of Gaetan’s system. There were worse ways to spend a weekday evening.


	5. There's Only One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gaetan takes up the entire bed. Letho falls out. Fluff ensues._

Letho clung onto the edge of the mattress, huge shoulders bunched, knees tucked up to his chest, and scowled into the darkness. Winters at Kaer Morhen were meant to be a time of rest. He only allowed himself to attend every few years—he couldn’t allow the wolves to start thinking they were _friends_ or anything like that—but, recently, rest proved somewhat elusive.

The reason for Letho’s apparent insomnia snorted loudly into his pillow and stretched his willowy limbs out across the bed. There was a quiet, rumbling purr—brief, he must be having a pleasant dream—and then a muffled groan as he burrowed down into the blankets. Then, somehow _—somehow—_ he proceeded to take up even more space; a knee pressed into the small of Letho’s back, shoving him closer to the brink.

How could someone so small— _so slender_ ­—take up that much room? It was a double bed. Used to belong to one of the old instructors, or so the wolves said. There was only one (and wasn’t that always the fucking way) and, as usual, Gaetan took the lion’s share (despite being the size of a tabby). He crowded Letho to the very edge every damned night.

A stray hand slapped the back of Letho’s head and that knee pushed hard enough to shove him over the lip of the mattress. He growled as he hit the floor with a loud thud. It was the last straw. “Gaetan!” 

“What—? What?!” The Cat snorted away, hands braced on the mattress, knees gathered beneath him and stared around the room in alarm. “Where is it? Don’t worry Letho, I’ll catch it under a glass.” When his sleepy brain finally caught up, he blinked at the Viper kneeling by the nightstand “Why’re you down there?” 

“What the fu—?” Letho squinted, and then shook his head; that was an issue for another time. “You need to stop takin’ up all the bed. This is—,” he clenched his teeth. “This is my bed too, damn it.” 

“Stop being melodramatic, there’s loads of room,” Gaetan gestured around him at the bountiful amount of mattress available now that he was crouched on the far side.

“You—it—do you know what? Fuck it. I’m sleeping on my bedroll,” Letho growled as he clambered to his feet, rolling out stiff limbs that had been bunched up for several hours. 

Gaetan frowned. “Hey, no, I—,” he watched his paramour skulk across the room towards his pack. “Give me one more chance.” 

The small sliver of desperation in his tone gave Letho pause and he turned back to the bed. His eyes were blown wide, lower lip slightly jutted, narrow shoulders hunched. It was the most adorable fucking thing Letho had ever seen in his life. The fact that he was completely naked, his medallion hanging down the middle of his lean chest, didn’t go amiss either. When Gaetan cuddled against him, warm and purring, it was Letho’s personal brand of heaven. With a sigh, Letho climbed back onto the foot of the bed. “One chance.”

“Okay,” Gaetan skittered out of the way and patted the space he’d just vacated. It was still warm when Letho fell into it with a soft groan of contentment, and Gaetan climbed on top of him with the blanket draped over his back and shoulders like a cape. “Better?” Gaetan asked, gazing up Letho’s chest from beneath the lip of the blanket once he’d settled.

“Mm,” Letho stroked his palms across Gaetan’s head, down his neck and across his back. “Yeah, this’ll do.” Seconds later, a low purr vibrated from his contented moggy, who began to knead idly at his chest and stomach. Gaetan was small—able to treat Letho’s huge form as a mattress in itself—but was far from delicate; his body was solid under Letho’s hands, all sinewy muscle and scarred skin. Perfect.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so warm, I kind of gravitate towards you,” Gaetan murmured, turning his face down into Letho’s chest with a contented _‘murr’._

“Really? Feels more like you’re just a greedy little bastard,” Letho replied, his eyes closed.

“Yeah, valid,” Gaetan deflated with a heavy sigh. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah, yeah, just go to sleep.”

“Knock, knock,” Gaetan chirped.

“What now—?”

“Play along, scales.”

Letho sighed. “Who’s there?”

“Love.”

“Who?”

“Love you,” Gaetan wiggled, thoroughly pleased with himself, and took the kiss placed on top of his head as a return. These older Witchers were a little more reserved, but Gaetan knew what to watch out for. He could hear Letho’s heart thundering, caught the shuddery intake of breath, and the full body shiver of pleasure. To translate for the layman: “I love you too, moggy.”


	6. The First Kiss of Love [Art - NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFM images created by [Zuri.](https://twitter.com/SFM_Obsession/status/1294750280127455234)


	7. A Cosmic Backside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letho waits for Gaetan in northern Kerack, but his reptilian mutagens aren’t really suited to waiting out in the cold. No warnings, just fluff, with mention of canon-typical political strife. Well, it’s Letho and Gaetan, what did you expect?

The wind tugs at the hem of Letho’s cloak, and he grits his teeth to quash the shiver that skitters over his skin. It’s late autumn, and the bitter chill wafting along the Kerackian coastline has followed Letho further inland as he seeks shelter. As he sits near the banks of the Adalette, as far away from the roaring oceans as possible without crossing into Cidaris or Temeria, there’s only one thing - or one person - that can bring him solace. He’s due to arrive any day now.

They meet towards the end of the season every year. Not always in the same place, of course. Letho’s far too paranoid to entertain forming a pattern, and Gaetan’s head is wanted throughout Temerian for his indiscretion at Honorton. Such things bleed out in the soil until the entire province is infected with distrust and rumour; poorly scrawled images of Gaetan’s face could be found in every town from Hagge to Velen.

Letho stares into the meagre fire at his feet and wishes he could build it higher but, on the edge of Brokilon, he would risk drawing the ire of both the dryads and any wandering bandits who fancied trying their luck. It’s far easier, and safe, to sit and shiver. He stares into the crackling flames and tries to occupy himself with thoughts quiet reflection. 

_The pack of drowners he’d picked off last week had been infected with a new kind of rot; new contracts and agreements are being formed between the Kerackian pirates and their distant Skelliger cousins that Letho should keep an eye on, he heard tell of a plot to poison a local duke when he visited the -_

Letho’s eyes slide shut as his body slows, and his mind loses consciousness. He doesn’t feel it as he topples over onto the solid ground, his cloak falling over his craggy face…

“Stupid reptile,” says an angry voice, “itty, bitty fire; giant, cosmic backside. Does not match up, Scales, does not match up.”

“Gaetan?” Letho rasps, slowly uncurling beneath his cloak. The material sticks to his skin and he blinks down at the glisten of sweat on his arms. He shifts the material off his face only to squint at the small bonfire Gaetan’s piled up in their tiny clearing. “Gaetan!” Letho squawks as he watches grey smoke coil towards a midnight sky.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” Gaetan drawls, snatches up a hunk of dried biscuits and hurls it squarely at Letho’s face, “don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re giving away our position, you can’t…” Letho growls, kicking at the snare of his cloak to free himself, “you can’t just set half a copse on fire and expect the dryads to ignore it.”

“They have more pressing issues,” the cat flutters his hand dismissively, but when Letho glares at him, the corner of his eye twitching, Gaetan sighs, “fine, fine. The good kings of Verden and Brugge are doing their annual ‘pitch and burn’ at the edges of the forest. You know, with the barrels, and the fire, and the hundreds of soldiers that leave looking like hedgehogs. Dead hedgehogs.”

“Hm,” Letho rumbles, “Kerack not involved this year?”

“Nah, you know that Tarrand doesn’t have the same hatred as his daddy dearest,” Gaetan says, gnawing thoughtfully on the edge of the jerky in his hand, “besides, he’s too busy being flattered out of all his money.”

“You’ve been busy, kitty,” says Letho, allowing himself a small smile, “there was me thinkin’ you didn’t have a stomach for politics.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Gaetan smirks, “I’m highly allergic. Brings me out in hives. I just like to know from which direction the knife’s most likely to come from.” For all his bravado, Letho can see the concern in Gaetan’s eyes. The firelight flickers over his narrow features, the warmth flushing his cheeks a sweet, rosy pink. Not for the first time, Letho is momentarily enamoured, his heart expanding in his chest from where it’d shrivelled, inert and worthless, during their months apart. No surprise, really. Letho’s known for a long time now that his heart only beats for Gaetan.

The silence passes comfortably, the smouldering logs popping and snapping in the white heat of the fire, and Letho eats a little of the biscuit that had been offered earlier. They can both hear distant cries on the wind, the whistle of arrows as their fletching catches the night air. Soon there will be scents on the air too; blood, ash and death. With danger so close, Letho can sense Gaetan’s unease growing. It simmers and bubbles, his slender frame humming with tension.

It’s no surprise when he leaves his own bedroll suddenly and thrusts himself inside Letho’s cloak with a furious purr. “You asshole, I thought you were dead,” Gaetan hisses, his chest still rumbling so loudly around the words, “you were barely breathing. And I couldn’t cover all of you, too small, so I cut down a fuckin’ tree to build a fire big enough.”

Letho wraps Gaetan’s narrower form and pulls him close to his chest. He eases them gently to the side and strokes the light stubble on Gaetan’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and Gaetan chews on the apology thoughtfully, before nipping the tip of Letho’s thumb in reproach. And acceptance.

They settle for a contented moment, and Letho can feel Gaetan snuffling at his neck and throat, his warm hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to knead his stomach. Agile fingers work slowly, methodically, around Letho’s torso and down his arms, squeezing his palms, his ass, his thighs appreciatively. He’s making sure Letho’s warm again, that no trace of the murderous cold remains.

“You can make it up to me later,” Gaetan purrs, wiggling around until his back presses into Letho’s chest, his rump pushed cheekily into Letho’s crotch. He hides fear and uncertainty with mischief, but Letho knows better. Big arms wrap around narrower shoulders, and the cat rumbles with a low, contented purr that warms them both more than the fire. Gaetan feels safest when he has someone he trusts watching his back and nowadays his options have boiled down to just one person. 

_A stupid reptile with a giant, cosmic backside._


End file.
